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I like being around people who build you up instead of tearing you down(1Thes. 5:11-24, 1Peter 5:8)—basically, the human equivalent of a good contractor, not a wrecking ball. That list changes day to day (because, let’s be honest, some people wake up and choose chaos), but at its core, it’s my closest friends (3), my
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A dreamscape of loss and longing, where time unravels and echoes of the past linger— life’s relentless grind swallows dreams, yet the poet weaves meaning from the void.
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Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you. I have a pair of black, smooth, wing-tip shoes—gloves of leather, fitting as if made just for me. They have carried me through moments both heavy and light, walking my two daughters down two aisles, step by measured step, toward new lives,
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The scratching of his pen filled the room, frantic, almost desperate. Ink bled into paper, curling into letters that barely kept up with his thoughts. The desk lamp buzzed faintly, casting a cone of light that barely held back the dusk seeping in through the window. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray beside him,
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Libra’s Scales It happened to you—I listened,as your recounting unfurled,and grew silentwhen my own accountfaded pale against yours. The day my smile wept,I called,left my voice in fragile linestoo faint to trace—but you recoiled in anger,for I had not left you space.I stood, feeling inept. And when they took your love away,because help had
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Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received. The greatest gift I’ve ever received is God’s love through Jesus. Honestly, I don’t think I can fully comprehend the depth of this gift, but I experience its beauty, strength, and grace every day. What makes it even more incredible is that it never runs out—I
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“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” — Walt Whitman I’ve Stood Soft I’ve stood soft against a hard rain,cold and wet clinging unrelentingto detached thoughts,iron-hot in vain. I’ve stared into a gray sun,choked on burnt exhaust,inhaled cigarettes with disgust—yet still, I breathe. I’ve turned away
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“Ballin’ on a Countdown: The Fine Art of Going Broke Strategically” Another version of this game is called Die Broke—same strategy, different branding. The idea is simple: when you die, you should have nothing left. Makes sense, right? You can’t take it with you, so why not spend it all while you’re here? The trick,
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“Be real,” she said,her voice smooth, practiced,like someone asking for the truthonly to fold it neatly away. Love was a currency to her,spent in small, measured doses,never more than necessary,never without expectation of return. Silence settled between us,thick, heavy—the taste of stale bread on my tongue,the ocean stretching out before me,salt licking the edges of
“All colors made me happy even grey.” Nabokov, Pale Fire
A German carpenter by day working hard to follow a Jewish carpenter, exploring writing as a creative outlet. Passionate about learning through practice and observation.
BB Grey--musings 